Gemini
by President Luthor
Summary: Follows the events of 'Fire'. Clark visits Bruce in Gotham City as the fall semester approaches. Lex struggles to contain the brewing arms scandal. Clark must make a choice -- or lose an ally.
1. CH. 1

"Gemini", PG-13, Chapter 1 

BACKGROUND: It's the end of summer. Clark is ready to return to high school. With a week to spare before the fall semester, Clark accepts Bruce Wayne's open invitation to visit Gotham City. A city full of sights, sounds and vitality. But danger lurks just around the corner. Lex recovers in Smallville, struggling to rein in his father's schemes. Clark, worried that his friendships with Bruce and Lex will expose his secret, must make a pivotal choice – or lose a valuable ally.

Kent farmhouse

Clark opened his email. He didn't have the opportunity to check since he spent the rest of August preparing for the fall harvest. August. He was still bothered by all the events earlier this month. A brewing arms scandal threatened to destroy Luthor Corp. The car explosion – a professional hit, according to the FBI – that nearly claimed Lex Luthor's life. Not to mention Bruce Wayne and Clark's own role in saving the billionnaire's life earlier this summer.

From: Lana

"... renovations are going well ... how's Lex ... let's go for a coffee sometime"

From: Lex

"... I'm sooo bored here at the estate ... dad called ... my lawyers are getting to the bottom of the arms trade problem ... come by to visit when you can ..."

Clark opened the next email. It's from Chloe:

"I'm the youngest intern here ... the other interns are in college ... so lonely ... Luthor Corp. putting up a fight in the courts ... I hope Lex is doing better ... can't wait to go home ..."

Poor Chloe, Clark thought. I didn't really get a chance to spend time with her. I had to leave for Kansas and she had to stay in Metropolis.

Then an email from Bruce Wayne, Clark's OTHER billionnaire friend.

"Come visit me in Gotham, if you can. We'll talk."

Well, I do have a week to go. The farm is ready for the fall harvest. And I'm just about finished with that last editing project Bruce gave me. Some speech for a Gotham Memorial gala event.

Clark ran downstairs. I think Mom and Dad won't mind.

Daily Planet offices, afternoon

Finally. Chloe heaved a sigh of relief. The Planet was short of extra hands, since some of the college-age ones had to return for fall registration. "Chloe, we're bumping you up to the day shift," the Planet's editor had told her only yesterday. Not that there was anything exciting to do.

The business reporters had taken the lead on the scandal. They had the experience, sources and weren't exactly going to give up such a hot story. Who would? This month would surely earn the Planet yet another Pulitzer. The FBI investigation hadn't stopped, but it was definitely slowing down. All the activity was in the Court of Appeal. Luthor Corp.'s lawyers (perhaps realizing the feeding troth would run out if the company collapsed) fought a pitched legal melee with state attorneys. Luthor's lawyers could not allow the injunction to be overturned or Luthor's dirty secrets would be aired in public. The state could smell blood and were putting on the pressure: leaning on Luthor's business partners and requesting help from Interpol.

Chloe did get a chance to write. Right now, she was doing a little blurb about WWF Summerslam's weekend visit to Metropolis. She didn't even like wrestling. Soap operas for boys, she concluded.

I'm bored, Clark, she pouted, why can't you, like, come over and visit me?

Kent farmhouse, dinner

"I don't know," Martha Kent was hesitant. Her son wanted to visit Bruce Wayne. The same Bruce Wayne who narrowly escaped assassination TWO times. Clark has special abilities, but why tempt fate?

"Why don't you go to Metropolis instead," Jonathan Kent pleaded, "It's safer."

"I'm not so sure about that," Clark replied. After all, Lex just escaped a professional hit. Who's to say if Lionel Luthor was next? And a week in the same city as Chloe is way too much to deal with right now.

"I promise to keep a low profile and NOT to talk to any reporters," Clark insisted.

His parents relented. He did work hard all summer. Clark dashed upstairs and called Wayne Manor.

"Guess who's coming to dinner, Alfred?" Clark asked.

"Lionel Luthor?" Alfred quipped.

"I am! My parents said it's ok."

"Bravo, sir. The Wayne Corp. jet will be in Smallville tomorrow morning."

"Oh no," Clark didn't want to be so much trouble. "I can take the train."

"Nonsense. Besides, Master Bruce has something planned. You'll be having lunch here."

Alfred hung up the phone and entered the oak-panel study room.

"Sir? Mr. Kent sends his regards. His parents said it's ok."

Bruce looked up from his papers. "Good." Alfred left. Bruce picked up a picture of his mother and father.

This week, he would leave some flowers at their gravesite. Their wedding anniversary. Soon, my life will make sense. My path will be clear. At last.

"Clark, you have good parents," Bruce said.


	2. CH. 2

Chapter 2  
  
[Geneva, dinnertime]  
  
Lionel Luthor stepped out of the World Bank building. He was pleased. His attorneys managed to win an injunction. For now, his corporate empire stood. But what of the missing files? Enron had many tentacles – perhaps some of them extended to Metropolis. I'll have to look into better accountants, he mused. He sat in the parkette beside the avant-garde statue (god, it's ugly).  
  
The contact appeared. Leather overcoat. Dark sunglasses. Stereotypical mobster, Lionel thought, no imagination.  
  
"I want to you to send Mr. Wayne a message. Remember ... no links to me or Luthor Corp."  
  
The stereotypical gangster nodded and accepted the brown envelope. He smiled. Payment in Euros. Then he left to complete his task.  
  
This time, Lionel Luthor insisted, I will play a game of wits with Mr. Wayne. Death by a thousand strokes. He still wanted Bruce dead. But it would be at a time of his choosing. He looked at his cell. One missed message from Lex' executive assistant.  
  
I'll check up on him later, Lionel thought. I really do need to have dinner.  
  
[Smallville Airfield]  
  
Clark pulled along his luggage. He could easily sling it over his shoulder, but he figured it would be safer to 'act' like just another passenger.  
  
Lana Lang waited on the tarmac.  
  
"Lana??"  
  
"My mom wanted to give you some cookies for the trip."  
  
"Thanks." This is awkward, Clark thought.  
  
"So ..." Lana didn't know what to say. She felt tremendous sympathy for Clark – especially after his gruelling summer of intrigue: hitmen, the Luthor arms scandal, and the mysterious Bruce Wayne. She had an uneasy feeling about Bruce. She and Chloe had talked about it a few weeks ago over the phone. Who am I to question Clark's choice of friends. As for Chloe's friendship with Clark, she wasn't exactly buying Chloe's 'just friends' routine. Something to keep an eye on.  
  
The Wayne private jet taxied towards them. The wind whipped around Lana's long dark hair. Last week, Lex had bluntly told Clark: "You have two very attractive AND intelligent female friends ... and you just want to be buddies?" Clark didn't feel comfortable with the prospect of ruining two perfectly harmless relationships by acting impulsively. Or was he like Bruce, afraid to risk hurting others because his chosen path had to be – must be – a lonely one.  
  
"Cat got your tongue, Mr. Kent?" Lana laughed. "Bye, Lana," he said then imagined giving her a kiss. Not a little euro-peck on the cheek. A 'I'm gone for week. Wait for me' kiss. In reality, he took her hand and shook it as if he were closing a business deal. What did I just do, Clark wondered. He bounded up the stairs and gave the pilot a thumbs-up. The plane soon soared above the Kansas sky.  
  
Sometimes, I just don't get Clark Kent, Lana mused.  
  
[Luthor estate, Smallville]  
  
Lex was in bed. The wonders of private home care allowed him to stay at the estate, recover AND still monitor the multitude of responsibilities as Luthor Corp.'s chief operating officer.  
  
News of the on-going court battle between Luthor and the feds continued unabated. The FBI's investigation was getting bogged down. If no hard evidence – the missing files that evaporated in an explosion this month – surfaced soon, the threat would eventually subside as the lawyers buried the scandal in mountains of legal briefs. Sure, he was propelled 30 feet head first out of his 2002 Lexus (damn), suffered a punctured lung, pinched vertebrae and would likely spend most of the fall using a cane, but that was a fair price. The Luthor empire would endure.  
  
He had more pressing concerns. Lex picked up his cell.  
  
"Yes. More infrared cameras. Guards on-site. Uh huh, 24/7." No one gets in – or out – without my consent, he thought. Father's fling with underworld trading partners apparently had gone sour. Thanks, dad.  
  
"No, that's absurd. I'm not a hermit! I won't ban people from coming over to visit. Clark Kent, he can come and go as he pleases. If anyone so much as frisks him, they get walking papers. No, I'm not being unreasonable. Goodbye!"  
  
Clark again proved himself a loyal friend. Saving him from certain death. He even stood up to that shrew Summer Gleeson ... at least that's what his bodyguards said. A jolt of pain stung his back. He can't afford to lose friends – not now – not while the vultures are still circling. 


	3. CH. 3

Chapter 3  
  
Lionel Luthor's contact in Geneva had a name. Michel. An AWOL French legionnaire who found the murky world of arms trading irresistible. This mission already earned him 100,000 Euros upfront. He confirmed in London that another 150,000 was deposited in his Swiss account. As usual in these activities, he would receive the other 250,000 upon completion of the task. He had arrived in Metropolis International.  
  
The clock said 11:30 PM. Another red eye flight to Gotham and he would be that much closer to earning the rest of his contract. He did not know – or quite frankly, care – why Mr. Luthor wanted to send this sort of message to Bruce Wayne. By all accounts, Bruce was the typical playboy socialite who coasted on his father's reputation. No responsibilities whatsoever. Yet, the Wayne corporate empire thrived. Perhaps that was why Luthor hated him so, he concluded.  
  
"United Air Flight 1940 to Gotham City now boarding." Michel had changed into a sharp charcoal grey usiness suit in England. He was good at his job. 500,000 Euros was a fair price if Bruce Wayne was to be his prey.  
  
[Gotham Airport]  
  
Alfred greeted Clark on the tarmac and graciously opened the black limousine's door.  
  
"Mr. Kent, Master Bruce sends his regrets. Business. I've prepared lunch at the Manor. Then we'll have you fitted for this afternoon's event."  
  
Clark looked puzzled. "Event?"  
  
"The annual Gotham Memorial Hospital charity gala. Definitely a black-tie affair. Master Bruce hopes to raise $10 million dollars for the new children's wing. He's already offered to match all donations dollar for dollar."  
  
I'm never gonna get used to the pace of this city, Clark wondered.  
  
[Wayne Corp. HQ]  
  
Bruce already finished the Wall Street Journal, Washington Post, Gotham Times and just picked up the Daily Planet.  
  
'LUTHOR LAWYERS BOG DOWN COURT; FEDS LEAN ON EURO PARTNERS FOR INFO'  
  
"That's what they get for dabbling in the arms trade," Lucius Fox observed. As the chief operating officer of Wayne Corp., it was Lucius' job to keep the empire afloat. They had withstood every attempt by the media to discredit the young Wayne as a corporate lightweight. The business world was not for the faint of heart. This is why he held some reservations when Bruce finally ascended to the CEO office.  
  
Bruce's youth, he believed, got the better of him at times. The Summer Gleeson affair was just a recent example. Lucius was a friend of Thomas Wayne, a giant of a figure, lauded as a beacon of American freedom by Jimmy Carter. Such was the legacy of Bruce Wayne. In spite of it all, Bruce shouldered the weight amicably.  
  
Bruce shook his head at the headlines. "Unfortunately, Lex is now paying the price for his father's apparent lack of discretion. Look at this: shady contacts in eastern Europe, questionable partners in Moscow."  
  
"I'd keep an eye on Lex, nonetheless," Lucius remarked.  
  
"Already on it." Bruce showed him a set of press releases, annual reports and magazine articles relating to Luthor Corp. – and specifically Lex Luthor. "My weekend reading. I still consider Lex a friend. Friends shouldn't keep secrets, right?"  
  
Lucius smiled. Maybe Thomas' legacy is in good hands after all.  
  
"One other thing, Lucius." Bruce checked his watch. The Planet will have to wait for an evening read.  
  
"Your executive assistant ordered the flowers," Lucius replied.  
  
Bruce looked at the framed portrait of his mother and father in the Wayne Manor study. Dated two years before the fateful night. THAT night. I haven't forgotten, he told himself. 


	4. CH. 4

Chapter 4  
  
Clark stepped out of the limousine. Wayne Manor never ceased to amaze him. Granite, ivy, immaculate gardens. Camelot. Alfred gathered his bags.  
  
"Alfred, it's ok. I can take my own bags."  
  
"Don't be absurd. Your room is on the second floor down the hall and to your left. Your lunch awaits you in the dining hall."  
  
Clark was uncomfortable being waited on, but the grumble in his stomach told him to go on and get his lunch. Apparently, Alfred had knocked over a Subway outlet, because the table was filled with every imaginable cold cut, bakery fresh bread, spreads, pickles and juices.  
  
Alfred returned half an hour later. "I see you have quite an appetite." Clark wiped some mustard from his cheek. "Thanks, Alfred."  
  
Alfred noticed that Clark was about to say something. "Anything else, Mr. Kent. More juice, perhaps."  
  
"How is Bruce doing? I mean – he's been through a lot this summer ..."  
  
Bruce was so close to coming to terms with his parents' deaths, Alfred thought. His project would be finished soon. Alfred had some reservations about it, but as the months progressed he saw that Bruce seemed, well, focused. At peace. But would that peace last?  
  
"He's fine," Alfred replied. I wish I knew for sure.  
  
[Daily Planet newsroom]  
  
Chloe scanned the latest headlines on dailyplanet.com. 'ATTORNEY GENERAL FRUSTRATED AT SLOW PACE OF LUTHOR COURT BATTLE' 'INTERPOL EXPANDS INVESTIGATION'  
  
Will this never end, she wondered. She read the Interpol story. A parallel court battle had just started in London. Luthor Corp. and its European partners were hoping to keep the authorities out of their files. With the International Court prosecuting war criminals from the Bosnian conflict, the last thing they wanted was an arms scandal linking them to genocide.  
  
She clicked the archive link. '2000: Luthor House absorbed into Rotterdam Enterprises' It didn't seem relevant to her. Luthor House was a tiny exporting branch of Luthor Corp. Europe. They dealt in coffee, fresh produce and other foodstuffs: trading between South America and the continent. According to the article, it had failed to turn a profit for three straight years. Luthor Sr. wanted to cut his losses, she thought.  
  
[Amsterdam, Holland -- 8:58 AM local time]  
  
Luthor House, however, was of great interest to Interpol. A stream of Dutch police cars screamed around the corner, blocking all intersections around the 19th century building. Although the building belonged to Rotterdam Enterprises, they had only completed the move six months ago. Most of the equipment: computers, phones, etc. were originally Luthor Corp.'s, but were acquired as part of the takeover. Normally, Luthor Corp. would send sweeper teams to purge all computer files and shred documents whenever their subsidiaries fell into other hands. But Luthor House was such as small operation. And a money-losing one at that. Luthor lawyers did visit the offices prior to the takeover to reclaim certain files, but overlooked the computers. This wasn't Luthor Corp.'s European headquarters in London and ranked low on the radar.  
  
Dutch authorities gambled on that oversight. Rotterdam employees had only arrived for work when scores of detectives, uniformed officers and a pair of U.S. Treasury agents swarmed Luthor House. A Rotterdam director tried to protest, but the Interpol warrant soon silenced him. They seized everything. Voice messages. Computers. Some of the Rotterdam management received subpoenas. Even the garbage in and around the building became police evidence. A successful raid, the treasury agents smiled. Lionel Luthor may have overlooked Luthor House and its ties to the arms scandal. They would not.  
  
[Gotham City]  
  
Clark looked at the mirror. Black tie. Too bad Chloe wasn't here to see me. Or Lana? I'm so confused. They're good friends, yet I can't help wondering what if. 'Will you, Lana Lang take Clark to be your lawfully wedded ..."  
  
He shook his head. No more daydreaming. Get a grip, Clark told himself.  
  
"Will that suffice?" Alfred inquired.  
  
"This is good. How much to rent for the day?"  
  
Alfred looked amused. "The tuxedo is yours to keep."  
  
Clark again tried to protest, but Alfred had already paid for it. "Compliments of Wayne Corp.'s expense account."  
  
A half hour later, they were before the marble steps of Wayne Corp. headquarters. Bruce – already dressed for a party -- bolted from the entrance and entered the limo.  
  
"A pleasure you could join us, Mr. Bond," Bruce joked.  
  
"Mr. Kent looks fine," Alfred answered then scowled at the young Wayne. "Would you please adjust your tie, Master Bruce? This isn't a rave, you know." Bruce quickly complied  
  
Clark laughed. He enjoyed the company of Bruce and Alfred. But underneath Bruce's jovial exterior was something not so welcoming. He noticed it that first time in Gotham. Bruce had an intensity that could explode at any time. After two assassination attempts, he must be on edge. But he seems always on edge. Clark set aside the thought for the moment.  
  
"Now I'm going to show you a party!" Bruce exclaimed. The Gotham Memorial Hospital annual gala. Everyone would be there.  
  
"I suggest you check your inhibitions at the door," Alfred quipped.  
  
Whoa, Clark thought, must be some party.  
  
[Gotham Hilton]  
  
Michel had just checked in. He, too, was now in a tuxedo. He browsed through the Gotham Times. 'Charity gala expected to raise millions' He put on his sunglasses. Sure it was a Hollywood stereotype, but, hey, it looked damn good in black tie. I love a party, he grinned. 


	5. CH. 5

Chapter 5  
  
Lex cursed. He flung his lunch tray to the floor, shattering the plates. Two nurses and a handful of bodyguards poured into his room.  
  
"Get the hell out!!" A nurse began to pick up the tray, but one glare from Lex and she quickly changed her mind. One of his bodyguards gently closed the door.  
  
There it was. Splattered all over the London Daily Telegraph. 'DAWN DUTCH RAID SEIZES LUTHOR HOUSE FILES' Lionel Luthor never cared for the tiny exporting company. Lex, however, saw its potential and voted against its sale. Unfortunately, the rest of the board sided with Father. Even now, Lex deployed Luthor Corp. laywers to attempt yet another injunction in Holland, but the odds weren't in his favor this time. Luthor House no longer belonged to them. Some Dutch trading company – Rotterdam – snapped it up because Lionel Luthor grew weary of it.  
  
Lex was actually feeling better this morning. BBC World reported that Luthor Corp. was winning the court battle. Within days, Luthor Corp.'s European assets (and those of its partners) would be sealed behind a rock- solid injunction. Just keep the feds out of our files and we're okay. The sloppiness of the Luthor House takeover festered for two years and now burst all over the international papers. And the goddamn subpoenas. Rotterdam's directors will certainly reveal all they knew about Luthor House. Why should they keep silent? They owed no loyalty to me or Father.  
  
Focus, Lex, focus. The barbarians aren't at the gates yet. He picked up his cell. "I want all the files on the Luthor House trade. Now!" He needed to find out if something – anything – in Holland tied the Luthors to that Bosnian arms crisis. He switched on BBC World: '... Lionel Luthor appeared relieved as he left the court ... for the moment, Luthor Corp. Europe is beyond the reach of the authorities ...'  
  
Lex growled. Instead of basking in that brief respite, Father, you should be smothering the fire in Holland.  
  
[Gotham Opera House]  
  
Clark had been expecting a hospital gala to be – antiseptic. Dreary doctors and business tycoon types trading golfing tips and debating which BMWs would go well with their upstate summer homes.  
  
Alfred was right after all. Check your inhibitions at the door.  
  
There was a definite 'Lord of the Rings' theme to the gala. Gaudy elves and masked dancers. Dance music was pumping through the halls at a hypnotic pulse. To the right, Cirque du Soleil was performing an excerpt from their latest show. At the back, Las Vegas-style fairies were fluttering around. Not to mention the celebrities.  
  
"Arnold, how's it going?" Bruce slapped some hulking giant on the back.  
  
"... just finished a press junket in Asia for 'Collateral Damage' ... are you working on those pectorals like I taught you ... Maria says hi"  
  
Clark was stunned. "That was ... the Terminator!!" Charity gala?! It looks like I crashed an Oscar party.  
  
"Excuse me ... hi, Bruce!" Did Nicole Kidman just brush past me?  
  
"And who might you be?" someone said in a thick German accent.  
  
Bruce waded into the crowd "...Clark, he's a friend of mine. Clark, this is Ingrid. Vogue's September cover."  
  
"Umm, hi," Clark waved. A few more spaghetti-strapped friends clutched onto Bruce's arm.  
  
"How about a picture for tomorrow's paper, Mr. Wayne?" Bruce posed, apparently relishing his image as a carefree – and immensely wealthy – bachelor.  
  
Clark laughed. Bruce had told him that the whole 'playboy socialite' routine was merely for public consumption. His charity work – on behalf of the UN, reforestation projects in Brazil, funding for third-world medical aid – mattered more to him than the snooty East Coast monied set that assumed Wayne was just like them. Let them think I'm a spoiled flake, he had said, none of that matters. His father's legacy demanded that he give something back to those who lacked his privileges. He knew he couldn't control the society scribes, but he knew how to play his role to the hilt ... if it achieved his objective.  
  
Bruce posed again with another celebrity. Hey, that was Phoebe from 'Friends'. Ingrid was waving Clark over. She wanted to dance.  
  
"Sorry, cupcake, this one's mine." It was Summer Gleeson.  
  
Before Clark could protest, she had whirled him away from Bruce's entourage.  
  
"Don't worry," she anticipated Clark's question. "I'm not here for a story. Just to party."  
  
"Really." I doubt it, Clark thought.  
  
"You just seem to be a magnet for front page news, Mr. Kent. When Bruce dodged that bullet in July, you were there. When Lex got launched out of his Lexus in yet another foiled hit, you were there to save him. I wonder ..."  
  
"I just have bad luck, I guess," Clark replied.  
  
"Maybe. Maybe you do." I don't buy that golly-gee shtick, Clark, Summer smirked. There's something you're not telling me. Or Bruce for that matter. She shifted gears. "Have you given some thought about what we talked about?"  
  
"I'll be in the fall semester. I doubt my folks would want me to talk to the media – any media – for awhile."  
  
"I meant Lex," Summer stated. Clark Kent is a good kid. Why does he seem to abide by everything that reptile Lex says?  
  
"He's my friend," Clark answered, "that hasn't changed."  
  
Summer glanced around. Bruce was looking over the crowd, likely trying to spot Clark.  
  
"Just promise me you'll be careful. You've got your whole life ahead of you. Lex and Bruce ... their world is not yours. It's not up to you to fix their screw-ups. I know. I've been there." Summer blended into the horde of sequins and tuxedos as Bruce strolled down the hall.  
  
Bruce nodded towards the sweets table. "Clark, why don't you get something to eat? The speech – your suggestions were great. Thanks! Time to do the M.C. thing."  
  
"Sure thing," Clark nodded. Someone abruptly bumped into his shoulder. Another movie star?  
  
"Excuse me," Clark said.  
  
A dark-haired gentleman with sunglasses sneered at him. "Watch where you're going!"  
  
"I'm sorry." That guy sounds French, Clark thought. It's gotta be Jean- Claude Van Damme.  
  
Michel shot another disgusted glare at Clark then walked towards the main stage. He wanted to get closer to Bruce Wayne. If the opportunity presented itself, he just might take it.  
  
Bruce approached the podium. A slight shriek of feedback. Hushed murmurs from the crowd. Bruce began: "I'd like to thank you all for coming here tonight. As a ..." His microphone cut. Then the lights clicked off. More murmurs. "Maybe it's part of the show," someone whispered. A nervous cough. Total darkness. Flashlights appeared from the exits on either side of the hall. Moving closer. To Bruce Wayne.  
  
Clark shoved aside the crowd and dashed towards the stage. No. It's happening all over again ... 


	6. CH. 6

Chapter 6  
  
Michel slowly slipped on his leather gloves. The darkness was the perfect cover. Slowly, he unraveled the thin metal wire. He would quickly strangle Thomas Wayne's only son in minutes. His plan was already in the works. Nothing would change that. Lionel Luthor never insisted on an assassination this time. But he would get one. 500,000 Euros was nothing compared to the fantastic amount he would demand of Luthor to keep his underworld connections out of the papers. One death – and he would be set for life.  
  
I'm backstage now. Mere feet from Wayne. Damn. The lights flickered then went on. About a dozen GCPD  
  
officers turned off their flashlights and encircled the podium. "No problem. Just a blown fuse," Superintendant Gordon mumbled to Bruce.  
  
"This party is apparently too hot that you guys blew the fuse!" Bruce announced on the podium. A roar of laughter, then the pulsing music blared again. Clark noticed a silhouette slip behind the curtain. It's that French guy. He followed him to the rear hallway. I don't think he's noticed me yet.  
  
Michel opened the exit door, then slipped into a broom closet just beside the door. Clark spotted the exit and jogged towards it. Michel cursed under his breath. He quickly unraveled the thin wire. I'd better do this quickly.  
  
[Metropolis University]  
  
Chloe was bored. She was fortunate to find affordable lodging in Metropolis U.'s dorm. The college year hadn't started yet, so she had the entire floor to herself. The cafeteria served endless varieties of bland food. Her phone rang.  
  
"Hey there, precious, how's it going?" Pete asked. "Just a sec, someone else wants to say hi."  
  
"Hi, Chloe!" Lana Lang. The wonders of three-way dialing.  
  
"Hey guys."  
  
"You don't sound too enthusiastic," Pete wondered.  
  
"I'm homesick!" Chloe blurted.  
  
"You're not missing anything here," Lana replied, "well, except for the whole Lex thing."  
  
The biggest story of the year and it was in Smallville, Chloe lamented. They talked about the Daily Planet, Lana's plans for the new shop, Pete's summer romances. Plural.  
  
"How's Clark doing? Have you heard from him?" Chloe asked.  
  
"A guest of his buddy, Bruce in Gotham,," Lana answered.  
  
"What is it with Clark and billionnaires?" Pete chimed in. "Kent's not exactly into the Armani-and-caviar social scene."  
  
"Maybe Clark's the only friend Lex and Bruce can trust," Chloe concluded.  
  
Clark's recent adventures with the jet-set society were unnerving to Pete. "I don't trust Lex. He's been trouble since day one. I only hope Bruce Wayne isn't cut from the same cloth."  
  
So do I, Chloe thought, so do I. Suddenly, NBC interrupted its programming. News Update with Tom Brokaw. "We have word that Dutch police have handed computer evidence -- seized from the Rotterdam raid – to Scotland Yard's forensic technology experts. And Luthor Corp. is helpless to prevent what appears to be the biggest break in the Luthor arms investigation ..."  
  
I've got to get back to the Planet, Chloe told herself.  
  
[Gotham Opera House]  
  
The party continued. "Where's Clark?" Bruce asked. "I thought I saw him back there." Alfred pointed to the rear of the hall. Bruce asked his movie pal, Arnold, if he saw Clark. Arnold shrugged, "I thought he was snacking on finger foods with Sandra." Bruce looked around. Nope, Ms. Bullock was chatting with Nicole.  
  
Bruce left the party through the rear door. Alfred soon followed. Something's wrong.  
  
Clark pushed open the exit. That guy must have gone to the garage. He caught a pair of gloves out of the corner of his eye. The thin wire wrapped around his neck. He gasped. The wire pulled tigher and tighter.  
  
I've had it with this crap! Clark pulled aside Michel's hands, snapping the metal wire in two. Michel looked stunned, then slung an elbow into Clark's kidneys. Michel grimaced. Ouch! This kid's gut is like concrete!! Michel tumbled down the stairwell, then scrambled up. Clark was already upon him. They grappled, then fell down the stairs again.  
  
Bruce and Alfred rushed down the stairs. Clark leaped to his feet, ready to lunge again. "Enough of this!" Michel pulled out his gun and aimed it at Bruce's head. "Let me go, or the Wayne bloodline ends here. Now!"  
  
"Let him go." Bruce was talking directly to Michel. "Kent's got nothing to do with this. Let him go, put down your weapon, and I promise you'll be fairly treated in court."  
  
Michel sneered. "I'm getting a fortune to put a bullet in your head, Wayne. Maybe I should get it over with!" The gun inched closer to Bruce's head. Clark heard a faint click. The trigger pulled. No, not this time. He grabbed the gun's nozzle, muffling the bullet as it exited the chamber. Clark stepped onto Michel's chest. Alfred had smothered Bruce behind his body. Now Clark had the gun. And pointed it between Michel's eyes. Clark could feel an incredible rage searing through his arteries. The sheer rush of power at blocking that bullet. It was invigorating.  
  
"Do it, you bastard!" Michel taunted, blood dripping from his cut lip. "Do it and everything I know dies with me. Do it, damn you!!"  
  
The past two months had been exhausting – physically and emotionally. Clark had ignored the toll it had taken on him. The dead cop below Wayne Corp's HQ in July. Clark could only watch as that cop's life bled away on the garage floor. And Lex barely hanging on to life earlier this month. I have the power to stop that suffering. My friends' suffering. But I couldn't.  
  
He could do little to change those events. Now ... NOW he could change them. The gun felt so strong in his hand. Send him to hell, something told him. Michel swore and spit in his face. He has no remorse. Shoot him and he'll never hurt anyone again. Mom and Dad, what if they become targets – because I failed to act. No. He placed the nozzle against Michel's temple. I am not going to be helpless. Not this time, when it matters.  
  
By god, Alfred thought, Clark is going to kill him. 


	7. CH. 7

Chapter 7 

Bruce stepped forward. "Clark, I know the past few weeks have been tense. I can't blame you for being angry. With what happened at the conference last month, the attempt on Lex – it's a lot to handle. Too much."

Michel spit again in Clark's face. "Go on. Pull the trigger, you goddamn coward!" Clark pressed the gun's nozzle firmly against Michel's head. Clark's mouth froze in a determined frown. All my powers and I still couldn't save that cop. Lex nearly died and I wasn't there in time. He remembered his father in the hospital on death's door a few months ago. He could do nothing then, too. The rage, the frustration consumed him.

"Clark," Bruce declared firmly. "I know you feel helpless. You've been drawn into my problems. They're not yours – they're mine, and mine alone. The burden's not yours. It never should have been." Clark seemed frozen, unable to move. The gun was still against Michel's head.

"Clark Kent. Your parents care about you. You ... don't know how lucky you are. To have them. You do this – you pull that trigger – you drop to the level of this piece of shit. You're a better man than him! You have nothing to prove. Give me the gun."

Clark remembered that night waiting for his dad to come out of a coma. The helplessness. "Never again," he muttered.

"Clark!" Bruce stepped closer. "You kill him, there's no turning back. You'll be no better than that scum who tried to kill me last month or the people who tried to blow up Lex in Smallville. Yes, I hate being helpless – feeling like I can do nothing to change things. I've felt that way since the day my parents were murdered. Don't choose to become what I've had to be my whole life: a shell. A hollow, guilt-ridden shell."

Clark broke down. Two months of tension melted in a stream of tears. "One shot and it's over."

Bruce stepped even closer. "Clark Kent! Give me the goddamn gun! You shoot him ..." Bruce straightened up. "Then I was wrong about you. About your integrity. Your compassion. Pull that trigger, you destroy all the trust ... the faith I've placed in you. Do it and you break that trust forever. No son of Jonathan Kent would kill a man in cold blood." Alfred reached for the gun, but Bruce waved him off.

"Kill him and our friendship is over. The gun. Now!" Bruce held out his hand. Clark handed over the gun, buried his hands in his face and wept. Bruce placed a hand on Clark's shoulder. "I knew it. I knew I could count on you. My friend. Always." Alfred moved to grapple with Michel, but he lumbered downstairs and out the garage exit. Alfred pulled out his own gun. Bruce tried to wave him off, but Alfred was determined.

"That bloody wanker so much as flinches at me, I'm sending him to his maker." Alfred dashed down the stairs. I swear, I am NOT going to lose another Wayne.

Michel ran out into the street. Clear. A taxi was across the street. A few more feet and he could be free. He laughed. A rumble. He turned to see a garbage truck hurtling towards him. The driver tried to stop but the drizzle of rain on the pavement only propelled the truck into a deadly skid. Thud. Michel, once one of France's famous legionnaires – and now just another nameless gangster – grinned in defiance as his head pounded against the street.

Alfred aimed his gun directly at Michel. Bruce ran outside. Sirens began to wail in the streets of Gotham. Clark stepped outside the exit door. Bruce lunged at Michel's body.

"Who sent you? Who paid you? Who gave you the contract!" Bruce shook Michel, who smiled as blood flowed out of his mouth. Michel thought of the Cayman Islands beach house that would have been his, made one last defiant cough, then died. Bruce pounded the body's chest.

"Dammit! Son of a ..." He stood up and wiped his face. Sprinkled with blood. Yet another baptism of death.

Clark crumpled against the door. He was so close, so close to throwing away his friendship, his values -- his life. The temptation for revenge and the rush of anger nearly consumed him. Bruce was right. Burying these fears would only destroy him. He owed it – to Bruce, to his parents, to his friends – not to allow his tremendous power to override his integrity. He was truly scared – of what may have come to pass. And ashamed.

He saw GCPD squad cars surround the garbage truck. Superintendent Gordon hovered over the assassin's body. Gordon took off his glasses and shook his head.

"No ID, no wallet, nothing," Gordon grumbled. "Just like the guy at the conference and the hitman at Wayne HQ. I'm sorry, Bruce."

Bruce looked over his shoulder at Clark, his head buried between his knees. I brought you all this anguish, Clark, he pondered. I'm so sorry. Bruce looked in his hand. I'm still holding the gun. He slammed it onto the street. Stupid gun.

Daily Planet, 9 PM

Chloe arrived in the newsroom. Reporters were busy pounding away on their computers. The assignment editor giving out marching orders to some photographers. Something is definitely up.

"Chloe, you're just what we need."the managing editor ushered her to the business section. "Our team in London got your email about Luthor House."

"I didn't think it mattered, but I thought it might be useful," she shrugged.

"You trusted your gut instincts, that's good," the editor declared, "as you can see, Luthor House just might be the cancer that finally consumes the Luthors."

Chloe looked above her. The TVs were tuned into broadcasts from around the world:

CBC, Canada: "The finance minister says his department will cooperate with any investigation into Luthor Corp.'s past Canadian holdings ..."

Finland: "Authorities are following the Netherlands' lead and are now compiling a list of any company Luthor Corp. may have sold ... a brewing company in Helsinki may cast some light ..."

Mexico: "President Vicente Fox promised swift action should any of Luthor Corp'.s former Mexican holdings provide links of substance to the arms scandal ..."

ABC, Australia: "Port authorities in Sydney are now checking ship manifests to determine if their owners have any ties to the Bosnian arms trade ...Luthor House's coffee trade to far-flung locales in Turkey, Hong Kong and Nairobi may have concealed less than honest transactions ..."

"Now, Chloe, what I'd like you to do ..."the editorbegan.

"... is fly to Amsterdam and follow-up on Luthor House?" Chloe hoped.

The Planet editor laughed. "Our team is already there, thanks in part to your heads-up. What I need from you is ..."

Chloe sighed. "... another timeline. Luthor's transactions involving Luthor House."The editor gave her a thumbs-up. Darn, she pouted, always a bridesmaid. Then Dan Rather appeared on the screen. "Gotham billionnaire Bruce Wayne may have avoided yet another assassin's bullet. And you won't believe who came to the rescue."

Clark Kent, superhero, Chloe answered. How do you stumble from one catastrophe to another? She settled down for yet another all-nighter at the Planet.

Luthor estate

Lex flung his glass of wine at the TV. It's all falling apart. The TV had shown Lionel Luthor gazing stupidly as a mob of reporters drowned him in questions, accusations and baseless rumours. The Luthor House raid had inspired their enemies to ignite suspicions around the world.

He picked up the phone. If Scotland Yard managed to resurrect even one file implicating the Luthors to arms trading in Bosnia, the game would be over. All this crap is mere speculation, he insisted on telling himself, there's no evidence.

The court of public opinion was a lost cause, but the legal avenue remained. And the Luthors had plenty of money to use it to their advantage.

"Yes, you heard me. Every court in every G-8 country. Asia. South America. Australia. Everywhere. Injunctions. Civil lawsuits. Lean on any news outlet that feeds off Luthor money. How far? Supreme Courts, House of Lords, whatever. And I want someone at The Hague. Not one morsel of this should ever get into the prosecution's brief. No more complaints. I want results. You have until tomorrow."

I am not responsible for this mess. But with too much at stake, I have to make it disappear. Lex Luthor will not become a scapegoat for Father's poor judgment.

The radio was still on "... Wayne escaped injury as Clark Kent again spared him from a killer's bullet ..."

Dear god, will it never end, Luthor sighed as he pressed the speed dial to Wayne Manor.


	8. CH. 8

Chapter 8  
  
[Scotland Yard, forensic technology lab]  
  
"Turn on the telly, something big just happened in Gotham City," the inspector said as he sipped his cup of tea, "arrgh, this swill is bloody awful." He sipped it again.  
  
"This is Summer Gleeson reporting live from the Gotham Opera House where Gotham's first citizen, Bruce Wayne narrowly escaped an assassin's bullet. GCPD confirms that the would-be assassin died as he stepped into the path of an oncoming truck. With me is Superintendent Jim Gordon. Superintendent, do you have any idea of the motive?"  
  
"Summer, the investigation is ongoing. All I can say at this point is we've talked to area rental car companies and staff at the Gotham Hilton. We've notified the feds and Interpol, but the perp had no identification of any kind."  
  
"And what of the heroic efforts of Kansas' favourite son, Clark Kent?"  
  
"The kid, not surprisingly, had been through an ordeal. We'll be taking statements from all witnesses. Mr. Wayne has asked that the media respect Mr. Kent's privacy at this time."  
  
"Thank you. We are now going live to our correspondent in Amsterdam for the latest ..."  
  
"My god," the inspector sipped his awful tea, "that lad Wayne ... three assassination attempts in two months?"  
  
"My money's on Luthor Sr. behind the hits," the lab technician replied.  
  
The inspector laughed. "You watch too many movies."  
  
The technician pumped his fists in victory. "I've got it, I've got it!" The inspector and a few officers huddled around the computer. "I've got a handful of partial files. See, they've been encrypted. But it's an older form of encryption. It took me the weekend, but we've got something. There." The screen filled with account sheets, email, contracts and timetables - all depicting Luthor House's transactions in eastern Europe. Coffee bought in vast quantities via Turkey, shipped to Germany and the Ukraine. Unusually high volumes to Bulgaria, Turkmenistan ... and Sarajevo. A few friendly calls to their Russian counterparts would certainly reveal that Luthor House laundered money. Coffee was a front for the real product: guns, ammunition, military-grade explosives, vehicles and who knows what else.  
  
"If the press ever got wind of this ..." the inspector wondered.  
  
"They never will." A grey-haired gentleman shoved a piece of paper in his face. An order reversing the seizure of Luthor House files. "Tyndhurst and Lassiter, Barristers-at-Law, Fleet Street. We represent Luthor Corp'.s interests in the UK."  
  
The inspector gasped as he read the document. "Intellectual property?!?"  
  
The attorney brought a dozen private security officers, who promptly gathered all the diskettes, computers and silicon chips.  
  
"You can't do this! Luthor House and its assets don't belong to you anymore," the inspector challenged.  
  
"The attorney adjusted his glasses. "Yes, Luthor House does not belong to Luthor Corp. But Luthor Corp. never surrendered any intellectual property rights as a pre-condition of the 2000 sale to Rotterdam. These files describe business strategies, concepts ... ideas, really. Luthor House's building, furniture, and yes, even computer hardware all are the property of the owner, Rotterdam. But the business strategies contained in those files, etc. belong to - and always will belong to - Luthor Corp."  
  
The technician was livid. "Oh come on! This is bullshit! Inspector ..."  
  
The attorney continued. "Once we have extracted all intellectual property from such files, we will, of course, return all hardware to Rotterdam."  
  
The inspector shook his head. "I suppose you won't allow us to supervise this process."  
  
The attorney smirked and presented another document. "Gag order. Since this is private corporate information, you cannot divulge anything you may - or think you may - have found on those files. Or risk a lawsuit. And, no, only Luthor Corp. employees, partners and associates may view such sensitive documents." Within minutes the attorney left with what could have been concrete evidence of Luthor's involvement in the Bosnian conflict.  
  
The technician crossed his arms. He looked completely dejected. "Good job, son. Not your fault. Good job." The inspector slapped the technician on the back. It seemed to him that money can buy anything. Even absolution from the dirty business of arms trading.  
  
Bloody laywers, he grumbled.  
  
[Gotham City]  
  
"...miraculous reversal of fortunes as Luthor Corp. successfully thwarted the Scotland Yard investigation, using an admittedly creative defense: intellectual property ..." Alfred switched off the radio.  
  
"Thanks, Bruce," Clark mumbled, "for keeping me from losing my head."  
  
Bruce looked at the light mist of rain over the skyline. "You kept your own head. I only helped you to remember what you already knew. You're Jonathan Kent's son, after all."  
  
Clark smiled, but couldn't shake the feeling of disgust at the blind rage he had felt in that stairwell. Alfred interrupted. "Sir?"  
  
"Yes, Alfred."  
  
"The flowers, sir."  
  
Bruce nodded. Alfred turned away from the highway and drove to Gotham Cemetary. At the tombstones of Thomas and Martha Wayne, Clark stood a few feet back as Bruce Wayne knelt between their graves and placed the bouquet of flowers on the soil. "Happy anniversary," Bruce muttered.  
  
"He'll need a few moments to himself," Alfred mentioned and took Clark aside. "Every year it's like this. You know, he blames himself in part - after all these years - for what happened. He was only a boy. Just a boy."  
  
"He can always count on me," Clark added, "for anything."  
  
"Really." Alfred was still guarded. "If those radio reports are true, Luthor Corp. may have pulled another rabbit out of the hat. Your friend Lex can rest easier now."  
  
"Yeah, with all that's happened in Smallville, the last thing he needs is another scandal." Clark pulled the umbrella closer to his head.  
  
Clark is a good friend, Alfred thought, but his friendship with Lex - well, there's reason for concern.  
  
"I've served the Wayne family for nearly 30 years. Lionel Luthor has crossed my path on a number of occasions." He glared directly at Clark. "It is my opinion that Lionel cannot be trusted. He was an enemy of Thomas Wayne. His tabloids dragged the Waynes through the mud for years after the funeral. Tried to tarnish everything Thomas fought for. That makes him my enemy, you understand? And from what I've seen of Lex ..."  
  
"You don't know Lex, he's is not like his father," Clark insisted.  
  
Alfred paused. The folly of youth. "I don't presume to choose your friends for you. And make no mistake, your friendship with Master Bruce is ...". He glanced over his shoulder. Bruce stood over the graves. No expression.  
  
Alfred continued. "... beyond value." He clutched Clark's arms with both hands. "Do not let him down."  
  
Clark looked up. The sky exploded in thunder and sheets of rain. Bruce still stood there. Rigid. Frozen in time.  
  
"I apologize if I've stepped over the line," Alfred added.  
  
Clark pulled the umbrella closer to Alfred. "No, not at all. You're his only family. You only want what's best for him."  
  
"Yes," Alfred rubbed his eyes, "yes I do." I still have a point to make. He stood in front of Clark.  
  
"These are dangerous times. Whatever you may believe, the Luthors have a reputation for ruthlessness - and not just in the boardroom. There may come a time when you will have to choose between your friendship with Lex Luthor and your friendship with Master Bruce." He opened the limousine door as Clark closed the umbrella. "I can only pray that you will make a wise choice. For Bruce's sake. And yours."  
  
Bruce's basement project will be over in mere weeks, Alfred recalled. The ordeal is yet to come.  
  
[Gotham Federal Train Station - two days later]  
  
Bruce tried to entertain Clark. Only last night he took Clark to catch the Gotham Sentinels' baseball game against the Cardinals. It was a squeaker in favour of the Sentinels: 8-7. Bruce tried to convince Clark to enjoy himself, but Clark couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment at the Opera House events. Clark finally decided to cut short his trip to Gotham. "I need to sort some things out," he had told Bruce.  
  
Bruce was dejected, but he understood. Clark shouldn't have to bear the responsibilities I have accepted by design. "When you feel ready to come back to Gotham, I'm only a phone call away." Clark gave him a firm handshake.  
  
"Here's your luggage" Alfred wheeled over the bags. "I took the liberty of packing some fresh sandwiches. The train to Smallville leaves in about ten minutes." Clark thought he saw a glimpse of shoulder length blonde hair in the crowd.  
  
Chloe was depressed. Two months away from home. No friends. Oh yeah, one little byline. Finally, they let me do a little blurb about Luthor House. But all the exciting stuff was left to the veterans. Still, a summer internship at the Planet was quite an accomplishment. Perry White left the door open for a summer job next year - no guarantees, of course, just possibilities. This fall will be full of possibilities. Clark.  
  
She looked puzzled. "Clark Kent?" Clark ran towards her, nearly tripping over his own bags. He spun her around and gave her a big hug.  
  
"My train had a little engine trouble, so we had to detour to Gotham," she explained. "I'm supposed to catch the express to Smallville in a few minutes." She saw Bruce and Alfred and waved. "I ... thought you were gonna stick around until the end of the week."  
  
"Well, I promised my dad I'd keep a low profile," Clark pulled out the Gotham Times: 'CLARK KENT GRAPPLES WITH WOULD-BE KILLER: SAVES WAYNE AGAIN'  
  
"I'm getting out while I still have a sliver of a private life."  
  
Clark saw Alfred pointing to the clock. "Train to Smallville now boarding," the porter hollered.  
  
Chloe noticed that Clark's eyes seemed watery. "Are you alright?"  
  
He remembered the feeling of utter despair he felt in that stairwell. Yet, he faced his darkest fears and survived. He led Chloe aboard the train, then turned to wave at Bruce Wayne. My friend. "Ms. Sullivan, you are about to have an exclusive one-on-one interview with Farmboy. Where should I begin? Gotham Opera House. The biggest social event of the year. Celebrities everywhere. You still with me, Chloe??"  
  
"Always, Clark Kent, always," she replied. This detour was sooo worth it, she thought.  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
Georgetown: a well-to-do neighbourhood in Washington, D.C. Home of diplomats, senators and generals. Maurice's was a popular restaurant where members of Congress dined - and plotted. Congressional races were coming up soon. The Democrats desperately wanted to win back control of the House. It's only fair. The Republicans have the White House.  
  
"So we're agreed?" one senator asked. "We draft him for the Senate, 2004."  
  
"We have a substantial war chest ready for him," a congressman added, "if he would only say yes."  
  
"The Republicans have already sent feelers. He may side with them. But his father has a solid reputation with our party," yet another senator continued.  
  
"We get him in the House, 2004. Let him raise his profile. Then ..." They clinked their wine glasses together.  
  
"Exactly. A toast, gentleman, to - we hope - a future Democratic presidential candidate, Bruce Wayne. Even if Powell takes a run for it, Wayne is this generation's Jack Kennedy. In time, we'll have another Camelot."  
  
In the booth around the corner, Lionel Luthor knocked over his entree. Even as news of Luthor Corp.'s legal triumphs reached the capital, Wayne still trumped him in the halls of power. Senator Wayne? Not if I have a say in it.  
  
THE END (for now ...) 


End file.
